


the atrocity of sunsets

by PrincessoftheBirds



Category: Dragon Age II, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Gen, Slow Burn, no beta we die like mages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessoftheBirds/pseuds/PrincessoftheBirds
Summary: Ignoring the potential danger of an unknown blood splattered elf she found in the Deep Roads of all places -as a Hawke is wont to do- Hawke grinned and shook Kimberly’s hand.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Fenris (Dragon Age), Fenris (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Fenris (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	the atrocity of sunsets

The Dark Roads were, in a word, miserable. They were damp and dark and full of darkspawn trying to rip your face off. 

“I’m going to kill Bartrand,” Hawke announced, grimacing at the slick darkspawn blood coating her axe blade. “...no offense Varric.”

“None taken,” Varric said mildly. The cavern echoed discomfitingly. With a heavy sigh, Hawke hefted her axe on her shoulder, slung an arm around Bethany and continued down the path. They moved silently for what felt like hours when Anders spoke up.

“Darkspawn, up ahead.”

Hawke made an exasperated noise. She left Bethany’s side, axe at the ready, and froze in the narrowing of the path before another room. The others crowded at her back.

A woman clad in dark leather smashed her heel into the face of a downed darkspawn, crushing its skull. Thud went the body. She flung herself forward. Bodies crashed to the ground with a clatter of metal against stone. Grunting, her blade hissed through the air as she removed the last one's head from its neck. The body landed with a dull thud.

Darkspawn littered the stones. Blood slicked off her blade, the drip drip dripping loud in the echoing cavern. 

Hawke shared a look with Varric --how did she get here, in this lost thaig that Bartrand locked them into. She wasn't among the expedition's numbers. How did she bypass the hunger demon? And most of all, why did she leave the vault untouched? They'd not seen any other entrances onto the path out so she must have come from the same direction, yes?

She bore watching.

Suddenly, the woman whipped around, features obscured by a leather hood and a fabric half mask. She pointed at Hawke with her dripping greatsword.

“Are ye man or monster?” she demanded. 

“Uh. ‘Not monster’ feels like the right answer here.” Hawke said, hands and eyebrow raised. She edged further into the room. The woman snorted, lowering her blade.

“Aye, lass. Good tae see some’un other than these rank beasties,” she kicked one of the corpses, grinning in good humor, “‘a’m Kimberly, and ye are?” 

Hawke took her in, focusing on the woman’s appearance now that the fighting had ended. Blood smeared and splattered across most exposed skin. She was dressed in a leather coat with several belts and pouches. A leather hood casted shadows over her face. Her eyes ever so slightly glowed. Every part of her was defined: small, strong hands, sharp features, slender arms and a thinness that spoke of infrequent meals. She looked light, quick on her feet. Someone Hawke should be cautious with. Not that a Hawke ever does as they should.

Ignoring the potential danger of an unknown blood splattered elf she found in the Deep Roads of all places -as a Hawke is wont to do- Hawke grinned and shook Kimberly’s hand. 

“Delany Hawke, at your service. These are my friends,” she gestured to the others, “My little sister Bethany, Varric, who narrates my life and is also my emotional support dwarf, and my lovely healer, Anders.”

Varric ambled up, eyes glinting, “So how’d you find yourself down here? Only entrance to this we know of was blocked off.”

“Ah dinnae ken, likely mages,” she hummed, shrugging, “Whin shit goes wrong, it tends tae be mages."

Hawke and Varric shared another look. That wasn't much of an answer. It was, in all honesty, as far from a real answer as you could get.

“Hey!” Anders protested. Kimberly focused on him, her head tilted. She hummed, nodded to herself and -having come to some sort of conclusion- turned away, absently cleaning the blood off her greatsword and sheathing it. Ignoring the healer's offended squawking, she picked up a battered leather pack and bow that’d been lying by the remnants of a fire and swung them over her shoulder.

“Ah hope ye ken a wey oot o' 'ere,” Kimberly said. 

“Well, there’s only one way forward, yea?” Hawke declared cheerily, taking off down the path. Kimberly snorted and ambled after her. 

They walked for several hours, the only sounds being the echo of their footsteps and the dripping of cave water. Kimberly periodically took a swing from a flask at her hip. Varric drew even with her. 

They walked. And walked. And walked some more. Occasionally broke in some darkspawn faces. They walked on. Kimberly's boot squelched with each step, dark leather coated in a layer of noxious blood.

Kimberly hummed lightly, kicking a decapitated darkspawn head. "This reminds me uncomfortably o' th' year ah spent chasin' doon Alduin." She ineffectively wiped the bottom of her boot against the stones, "Far too much tomb raiding, that."

"Sounds like a story behind that," Varric said. They walked through a low section, into another medium-sized cavern with dripping stalactites and dark corners.

"an' a story it is, cannae believe it an' ah lived it." She shook herself and clapped abruptly, "ah dinnae ken aboot ye a' but ahm hungry." 

"I'm starved," Hawke said, wry, "All the more reason to keep moving, yes?"

Kimberly patted her pack fondly, "Na need, git a week or two worth o' food in 'ere. Dinnae ken how Rayya manages tae pack it a' sae neatly. Either wey, a short break wull dae us guid.”

"A quick break couldn't hurt, could it?" Bethany added, shifting wearily. She looked pale.

Hawke looked to Anders, "What does our local Grey Warden think? Safe enough to rest a bit?"

"As safe as the Dark Roads can be."

"Good enough for me," Hawke said, plopping down on the ground near Kimberly. Said bloodstained elf was busy digging what looked to be a bundle of tinder and wood from out of her pack, ashy hands barely brushing over the faintest hint of runes in the pack's leather. She sighed, frustrated.

"Mage -Anders wis it?- Ony skill in Destruction magic? Could ye light this?" 

Caught between offense and practicality, Anders dithered before Hawke caught his eye meaningfully. He sighed and lit it with a surly grumble.

"Cheers." Kimberly nodded, flexing her cold fingers near the flame. She reached back into the pack, pulling out a few good sized potatoes, a loaf of relatively not yet stale bread, and a small pouch of venison jerky as well as a few rough metal tins. Deftly pulling a dagger, she cut into a potato and stuffed some jerky into it. She dropped the stuffed potato into a tin, put the lid on half way, and set it just inside the flames. 

Snagging another potato and slicing into it, Kimberly nodded at Anders, "Want some venison in yer potato, mage?" 

He let out a soft murmur of assent. And round the circle it went, her dagger easily slicing potato and deft hands stuffing them before placing it into flame to cook. Potatoes made, she unhooked a cutting board -of all things- from her pack and swiftly sliced the loaf of bread.

Seeing the bemused looks, she grinned. "Brynoff got tired o’ watching me slice up mah legs whin cutting breid wi'oot a boord. Conspired wi' Reyya tae include it in mah pack." 

Kimberly leaned back, fabric mask tugged down under her chin, watched as Hawke's crew relaxed marginally as they ate the warm potatoes and jerky and bread, bellies full for the first time in a while from under her hood. She sipped from her flask, alcohol burning down her throat as she read from a book, The Lusty Argonian Maid, Vol 2, embossed along the spine. Her lips moved silently as she parsed through the text. The soft rustle of turning pages, crackling fire and the eating of surprisingly delicious potatoes filled the air. Her outstretched leg tapped against Varric's every few heartbeats.

The fire died slowly. The silence broke as Bethany coughed, face drawn and pale. 

"Bethany?" Hawke asked, leaning over and placing a hand on her forehead. Anders moved closer, frowning. His hands lit blue and his sigh was heavy.

"The blight,"

Kimberly lowered her book. Watched.

Hawke held Bethany close, brushing fingers through her hair. She murmured quietly, soothing. 

"It's coming on faster," she cried, "I won't make it to the surface!"

"There… may be something we could do." Anders began, "I stole the maps from a Warden that had come to Kirkwall, we could bring Bethany to them."

"The Grey Wardens are here?"

"And do what?" Bethany asked, "Become a Grey Warden?"

Fierce like only the grieving can be, Hawke said, "If it keeps you alive, buys you even one more day." Strong, battleworn hands clutched slim ones desperately. She looked to Anders, "It would be a cure, right?"

"...Yes, I suppose it is," he hesitated, "but its not without a price -one not everyone is willing to pay."

"What price." Solemn.

"You may never see your sister again. The process of becoming a Warden is… unpleasant. And irreversible. She might survive the blight but at the cost of becoming a Grey Warden. It's not an easy life, trust me," he warned.

"This just keeps sounding better and better."

"Better than dying." Hawke nearly snapped, pressing her forehead against Bethany's. Piercing storm grey eyes held her gaze. 

Bethany nodded, holding on tight.

Anders heaved a weary sigh, "Then I hope I'm right."

"As do I, Blondie, as do I," Varric muttered. Delany helped Bethany to her feet, and arm wrapped protectively around her waist. They turn to assist cleaning up camp, to find the Wardens only to find Kimberly swinging her pack up onto her back. All that was left was the stomped out ashes of the fire. She nodded once, eyes averted.

Anders took the lead, guiding them towards the Wardens as best he could. Kimberly flitted through their peripherals, nimble and quick. After a long trek, Bethany growing weaker with every step, Anders slowed.

"Something wrong?" Hawke asked, gently rubbing Bethany's arm.

"I think they're nearby…" harsh squalling emerged from the gloom, "or it could be darkspawn!" 

He drew his staff, battle ready. Lighting flared. One down. Kimberly's boots squelched in the blood as she streamed forward, blade carving through flesh. Bolts flew through the air and Hawke stood guard before Bethany, axe held steady. Blood flew through the air.

Another, the last of the group, ran at Anders, sword high, only for a spin of his staff to take it out. 

A small group of blue clad Wardens came up from behind the darkspawn. They were led by a dark haired man with an impressive bit of facial hair.

"Anders."

Nerves tinting his voice, Anders lowered his staff, "Fancy meeting you here, Stroud."

"I could say the same," Stroud said, crossing his arms. Disapproval rang sharply. "I thought you were through fighting darkspawn?"

"I'm not here to fight darkspawn, I came looking for you." He looked back towards Bethany.

Hawke helped move Bethany forward, supporting her weakened limbs.

"You mean… the girl as a recruit? "He shook his head, "Of course you do."

Stroud turned to Bethany, "I'm sorry. I know this comes as no comfort to you, but we do not recruit Grey Wardens out of pity. It is no kindness."

"You think it's kinder to let her die of the blight?" Hawke cried, aggrieved, her voice thick.

"Sometimes it is, yes."

Anders rejoined the conversation, "Stroud, trust me when I say this one is worth your time." He snarked, "With the blight over, you don't exactly have recruits lining up."

Stroud remained grim. He warned, "This is no simpler thing, Anders. This may be as much a death sentence as the sickness, and you know it."

"She'll die anyway! Take her and try… I'm asking you."

He shook his head and sighed. "Very well, I will try, but if i do this, we are even." He turns away from Anders, "If the girl comes, she comes now and you may not see her again. Being a Grey Warden is not a cure. It is a calling."

"Are you sure about this?" Bethany asked, weakened and straining for breath.

Hawke nodded sharply. "You will live. That will be enough." She presses her into a quick hug, whispers in her ear and passes her into the care of the Wardens.

Stroud instructs his Wardens. 

"Then, I guess this is it… Take care of Mother,"

One last squeeze of her hand and Hawke lets go. Watches as their backs grow distant and fade into the gloom of the Dark Roads. Varric stands steady beside her, his shoulder pressed against her side. She'd left Lothering with three other Hawkes. She lost Carver, was too slow to save him and now -Bethany is gone too. Her fault, again. Four becomes three becomes two.

The sound of the Wardens' armor clanking peters out. Water dripped from stalactites. Kimberly tapped a steady beat against the metal of her bracers.

Steadily, they headed for the surface. Kimberly kept quiet, other than idle meaningless chatter round the small cooking fires. The longer they spent underground, the more frequent her tap-tap-tapping became. She kept to the edges of their group. The moment they stepped out into the fading sunlight of dusk, Hawke hugged a scraggly tree.

"Maker's breath, sweet light!" She cried. Kimberly lingered, a faint crinkling of the mask’s fabric betraying her smile 

"I hate the Deep Roads," Anders agreed. He stood facing the sun, eyes closed, just feeling the warmth of the sun.

She wiped at her face, smearing blood on the small section of exposed skin between eyes and mask. Grimacing, she hefted her bag more securely on her shoulder, she turned to Varric, "Which way leads to the closest town?"

"We're headed back to Kirkwall, which should be that way, along the Coast."

Hawke ambled over, not even bothering to pretend she hadn't been listening in. "Wanna come along? Easier to travel with friends!"

Eying Hawke's crew and Hawke herself, Kimberly heaved a sigh and shrugged, "Ahh why the hells nae, lass."

Hawke grinned, triumphant, and slung an arm around Kimberly’s shoulders, laughing as the elf squawked and ducked away from her arms. Varric chuckled at Hawke’s antics, and they set off to Kirkwall. Kimberly's steps stalled as they approached Kirkwall. Dull grey stone towered overhead. She frowned, shook her head and caught up with the rest. 

Walking into the city proper, Hawke clapped suddenly. "I don't know about you, but what I really want right now is a drink."

"I need to return to my clinic," Anders said, edging away, "I've been gone for far too long already." 

Hawke slumped dejectedly. She sighed, " And I really should tell Mother about Bethany…" melancholic, they were quiet. Hawke shook herself, addressing Anders, "Will you make time for drinks and Wicked Grace in a few days?"

He laughed, smiling at her, "I can manage that." And with that, he took off. 

She rocked on her heels, humming a foreign tune under her breath. Adjusting the straps of her bag, she followed them down several flights of stairs, into Lowtown. Hawke broke away at the entrance of the Hanged Man, to inform her mother of Bethany’s fate. Varric turned to invite Kimberly in, only to find she had disappeared. 

Casually slouched, Kimberly ducked through the streets of Lowtown. Nimble fingers found their way into pockets and disappeared just as quickly. She whistled cheerily as she made her way deeper into the City, down into the depths of Darktown. Deftly darting through the dim, damp sewers, she disappeared into the crowds to examine her loot and the state of things.

Tucked away in an isolated alcove of a lesser frequented sewer of Darktown, Kimberly took an accounting of her supplies. A long coil of hempen rope was attached to the side of her pack. Her rations had been severely depleted from feeding both herself and Hawke’s crew through the Deep Roads, as had her stash of tinder. Thankfully, she wasn’t too low on her travel spices. Kimberly dreaded the day she’d have to hunt down new suppliers in this odd city. Her cutting board was still securely attached to her pack. A thick leather journal rested on her knees, a knobbly quill tucked between its pages. Its matching ink pot was almost empty. String, a bag of ball bearings, a tinkling bell, two mostly empty waterskins, pitons, a hammer and crowbar sat in a tidy pile before her. Five candles laid near her thigh in varying states of half melted. Her flasks of oil were empty, and one of the glass panes of her lantern had been cracked. Her quiver held only two arrows. 

She grimaced, nudging the weeks unwashed spare set of clothes to the side. Kimberly had planned on washing those, and her bedroll, once she’d returned from the most recent heist, but her current situation had derailed those plans. Twisting a gold necklace that may or may not have been stolen around her fingers, she shrugged and stuffed it and the other dubiously acquired jewels back into her coin pouch. 

Repacking, she considered her situation. This... Kirkwall was unfamiliar to her, and none of the other locations Hawke had mentioned had been familiar to her. She hasn’t seen any other Dunmer, or even Altmer. Plenty of what looked like Bosmer, though only in the slums. And Hawke had called Varric a _dwarf_ . Last time Kimberly had checked, the dwemer were extinct. As in, super dead _extinct_.

And… the stars were different. Now, don’t misunderstand. Kimberly was no mage. But she is still mer. Something was _strangling_ the magic of this land and it itched like bees crawling under her skin. It felt wrong. She needed information. Kimberly shouldered her bag, and disappeared into the depths of Darktown. After all, the poor knew the true heart of a city.

* * *

The clinic had been, as always, horribly busy that day. A tunnel had collapsed in the Bone Pit, several gang fights had taken place, and for every illness he healed, three more sick people came to his door. Anders was exhausted, but he had just this last patient before he needed to work on his manifesto. He drew on his magic, scraping at quickly emptying reserves and guiding the healing energies through a dwarf's shattered femur. Carta, if he wasn't mistaken. 

The dwarven man grunted a thanks, dropped a handful of coppers on the cot, and lumbered out into the depths of the city before Anders could protest the payment. Just Anders stood up, his vision swaying with exhaustion, the door to the clinic was slammed open.

A bloody, bruised, broken mess of an elven woman was carted in. Her right hand was almost entirely crushed and blood seeped down her blue painted face. Anders directed the Darktowner holding her to a cot and set to work. He absently noted the man dropping a leather pack, bow and large greatsword beside the cot. A brush of light fingers through blood stained white haired revealed a sluggishly bleeding rend in her scalp. A concussion, and judging by the wound, a rather severe one too. He called upon his magic. According to his scans, she had a bad concussion, a hairline fracture in her skull, a busted nose, internal bleeding in her guts and her wrist and hand were shattered.

Cursing, he pushed her leather jerkin open and her maroon shirt up, pressing a hand to her stomach. He had to stop the internal bleeding before anything else. He drank a lyrium potion. Hands glowed as he repaired burst blood vessels and encouraged healing. Wiping his forehead wearily, Anders set to work on the next injuries. Gently, he coaxed her system into healing, soothing the irritation and fixing the hairline crack in her skull. Her nose made a painful sounding crack as he realigned it. He bandaged the open wound on her scalp. Anders, satisfied that the concussion was dealt with, turned his attention to her shattered hand. Knocking back another lyrium potion, he carefully peeled an oddly elegant bracer and thick leather glove off, revealing the broken mess. With a grimace, he set to work. Hands were delicate, so many fine bones and ligaments. 

A sharp noise escaped his patient. Her hand jerked in his grip, drawing a sharper, high pitched sound of pain.

"Shh it's alright," Anders soothed, his own hands glowing blue as he healed the elven woman's hand and wrist. He turned and reached for a jar of elfroot salve. A pained grunt sounded. Whipping around, he caught the elf by the shoulder, pressing her back down, " Rest, you've been concussed, you were bleeding internally, and your wrist is broken."

She grunted. Her unbroken hand wrapped around his wrist. Rasping, she demanded, "My pack, where's my pack?"

Voice pitched low and soothing, Anders carefully realigned the bones of her hand, "It's right here, don't worry." He winced as her nails dug into his wrist. Blue healing lit up the air as he scraped the last dredges of his mana, repairing the shattered bones. Anders pulled out a cleaning agent, a potent mixture but an effective one. He dabbed it onto some cloth and then gently cleaned the open cuts on her hand. Finally satisfied they were cleaned enough, he applied a poultice, gently rubbing the cool mixture around the wounds before he bandaged them up.

He gently lifted her head, healing potion in hand. It’d help the extensive bruising and soothe the aching on her newly healed bones. "I need you to drink this. But slowly. Take your time." 

She hesitated, eerie red eyes darting between the potion and his face. Anders kept himself open and nonthreatening. Eyes narrowed, she allowed him to help her drink the potion.

"Your skin may be shiny as new, but your body still needs to rest," he said, adjusting the thin blankets of the cot to cover her legs, "So I would recommend you remain here for the night." 

He felt her eyes burning into his back as he tidied up the clinic and extinguished the lantern.

"Yer th' mage who follows th' Hawke lass."

"Yes, I am," Anders said. He paused, blinking exhaustion out of his eyes and giving her a second look, "... Have we met before?"

She shrugged, "Deep Roads." she shoved herself to sit upright, leaning over to check on her pack. It laid exactly where it’d been left when she was brought in, half under the cot. She dragged it up to her, digging through it. 

Anders finally recognized her. She was the odd elf they’d found in the Deep Roads. He had never seen her full face bared. She only ever exposed her mouth when eating. Something, an enchantment on her hood if he had to guess, had kept her upper face in shadow.

“Nice to see you’ve survived,” he remarked. She barked out a laugh that seemed to surprise her.

“For a definition o’ survived, aye,'' she smirked. Finally locating what she’d been searching for, she pulled a coin pouch from her pack, “Whit dae ah owe ye fur th' healin?”

“Ah, no, you don’t owe me anything.” 

She looked at him incredulously, eyebrow raised, but shrugged. She tossed the coin pouch back into her pack. Peering around her space again, she asked, “Where is th’ rest o’ ma gear?”

He passed the bracer and thick leather glove over. She nodded a quiet thanks, looking over the damage to them and fishing what Anders assumed to be a repair kit from her pack. She shifted to get comfortable in the shabby cot.

Satisfied that she was stable and wouldn’t be racing off before her body had time to rest, Anders settled at his desk, quill poised over a fresh piece of paper. His manifesto would not write itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr for occassional drawings relating to this fic and my ocs: doodlesofaprincess.tumblr.com


End file.
